


chekhov's gun

by wallakihyun



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: .....light action, Action/Adventure, Bickering, Comedy, Explicit Language, M/M, Mafia AU, Sexual Content, Smut, Team as Family, finally some kihyungwon in this house, hacker IM, heists and scams, mafia boss's son hyungwon, prosecutor kihyun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 10:30:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14042289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallakihyun/pseuds/wallakihyun
Summary: "You know what Chekhov said, Kihyun?" Hyungwon lets the black metal drop onto the table. "Once a gun enters the story, it has to be fired.""Oh my god, that is so, so illegal," Kihyun says. "I can't believe you're a fucking mafia boss and still fake intellectual lit nerd."





	chekhov's gun

**Author's Note:**

> mafia au! the entire fic was written in late 2017, but i'll be posting serially as i have time to edit. 
> 
> (i swear none of the content was edited since then to reflect the new music film any similarities are coincidences) (otherwise known as: me and whoever wrote it watch the same dramas)
> 
> also, finally i got to post a kihyungwon (my literal otp) yes i delight in the Tension (tm) and bickering

_11:49 Monday 19 March 2018, Supreme Prosecutor’s Office, Seocho-gu, Seoul_

 

The door opens, then shuts with such force that Hyungwon actually flinches on the uncomfortable metal of his seat. He doesn’t look up, but he can sense that this isn’t yet another one of the prosecutor’s aides. He hears slow, deliberate footsteps, a chair screeching against the floor, and the sound of something being dropped on the table. Hyungwon only removes his gaze from his knees when he hears the person sit down. Black hair pushed back from his forehead, crisp navy suit, and a distinct tension emanating from his every gesture, from the pained scowl on his face. He’s, what, twenty-seven--doing pretty well for his age to be a prosecutor (and looking even better than Hyungwon would expect).

 

“So,” the prosecutor begins, shuffling through the files on the desk. “Thank you for joining us this morning, Mr. Chae Hyungwon. Let’s get started, shall we?” He enunciates his words through gritted teeth and barely-controlled anger, and Hyungwon knows that had there not been the cameras and the people behind the dark window, he would have yelled, he would have pushed Hyungwon against a wall and choked him with all the force in his small, prim, over-stressed frame.

 

Hyungwon leans forward and forms a deliberate smile, the kind he flashes at business meetings and the backstreet thugs when he’s doing reconnaissance or collecting dues. Slightly cold, devious, yeah-I’m-a-rich-kid-yeah-I’m-my-daddy’s-son. “Long time no see, Kihyun.”

 

Hyungwon thinks it’s fascinating how quickly Kihyun’s face literally distorts as he seethes. It takes one, two, three seconds for him to mobilize, stand up and stride toward the door of the observation room. He slams it shut--Hyungwon realizes now that it must be his little flourish (or maybe it’s just a special treat for Hyungwon)--and emerges again less than a minute later. He yanks his tie as he walks back to the table, loosens a few buttons on his white shirt as he runs his other hand through his hair. And then he punches the table--Hyungwon was expecting it, though, so he doesn’t flinch, only raises an eyebrow--and leans across it. “Fuck you,” he spits. “ _Fuck_ you, Hyung--Chae Hyungwon.”

 

Hyungwon whistles. “That was pretty hot, babe, but carry on with that anger and you’ll be looking like molten wax with a receding hairline by the time you hit thirty-five. Not healthy.”

 

“I turned the cameras off, locked the door so no one can get in to observe, so _help me god_ ,” Kihyun threatens, “if you ever call me _that_ again you will walk out of here with a broken neck. Maybe spine, too. You know what, actually, let’s add a nose--complimentary service.”

 

“I would think,” Hyungwon responds, trying (but not really) to keep the amusement out of his voice, “you would be more excited to see an old friend.”

 

“Friend?” Kihyun repeats, then laugh acridly. “Hyungwon, you stopped being a friend when you lied about your entire _life_ , turned out to be the son of some fucking kkangpae boss, and disappeared off the face of the earth for five years.”

 

He drops back into his chair, takes a few deep breaths. Hyungwon doesn’t respond, watching the weariness evident on Kihyun’s face, weighing down his shoulders. Horrible posture, he thinks idly, mostly to distract himself from the heaviness that is lacing itself through his body, curling uncomfortably into his gut. The best word he can think for it is guilt, but Chae Hyungwon doesn’t feel guilt. Chae Hyungwon is devious, unrepentant, a flight risk, _terrible_ at relationships and emotions (Wonho’s words), and Chae Hyungwon definitely does not give a flying fuck about the damage he does as he snakes, bends, and uses his way through people’s lives.

 

Kihyun sits back up, lets out a sigh, then reaches for the files again. “So, Mr. Chae Hyungwon. Let’s make this as quick as possible.” Flips through a few papers. “On the sixteenth of March we received a report that you were involved in the Cheonho-dong sex trafficking case.”

 

“I’m not a kkangpae’s son.”

 

“We are looking into a reported sex trafficking ring in Cheonho-dong,” Kihyun continues, ignoring him. “A victim from Uzbekistan was admitted to Asan hospital on March fourth, dying a few hours afterwards. As the examinations showed clear evidence of sexual and physical assault, the hospital contacted the--”

 

“We’re geondal,” Hyungwon says. “It’s not some petty backstreet gang. I’m sure you’ve heard of it--Son Yong Pa. Organized criminal empire. Home base in Gwangju, but our reach is across the country.”

 

“And the hospital contacted the police. This is the most high-profile out of a series of similar incidents over the last two years, and we also have a witness testimonial of involvement of gang activity--”

 

“We don’t do sex trafficking.”

 

“A gang that has, presumably, made its fortune off of sex trafficking.”

 

“Kihyun, we don’t do sex trafficking. You can investigate--you’re welcome to, you won’t find shit. You want to know what we do? Drugs. Loan shark businesses. We especially had a nice boost after the IMF crisis, taking charge of the Yakuza money flooding the market--”

 

“Why are you telling me this?” Kihyun asks finally. “I’m a prosecutor.”

 

Hyungwon smiles. “You know just as well as I do that we and the, ah, law enforcement work hand in hand. Anything I tell you is worthless.”

 

Kihyun exhales. “Why did you come here, then? Answering a summons without a fight and showing your face at the fucking central prosecutor’s office isn’t much like a mafia lord’s son.”

 

Hyungwon shifts forward in his seat. “Because, that sex trafficking ring? I know who’s behind it.”

 

Kihyun cocks an eyebrow. “And?”

 

“Chil Sung Pa. Busan-based. Don’t even bother to write it down,” He says when he sees Kihyun reach for his pen. “Really, don’t. You won’t be able to catch them. All the prosecutors in this damn building combined wouldn’t be able to do anything to them.”

 

Kihyun scoffs. “You’re in the Supreme Prosecutor’s Office. _Central_. We are the most powerful--”

 

“Doesn’t mean shit when they have all sorts of political figures wrapped around their pinky finger.”

 

“So you think I can’t do anything?” Kihyun asks. “Hyungwon, I didn’t get here by being an idiot. I know what I’m doing.”

 

Hyungwon nods. “Oh, believe me, I know.”

 

“What’s that supposed to--”

 

“It’s why you’re on this case, isn’t it?” Hyungwon continues without waiting for Kihyun to respond. “I know you know my gang isn’t involved in this, Kihyun. I also know you smelled the opportunity the moment the file about the girl from Uzbekistan hit your desk. You want to make it big with this one, don’t you? You’re eyeing the chief prosecutor’s office. You won’t get there this young, but I’m sure you’re thinking, build up a stellar profile like this, in ten, twelve years you’ll get there. Youngest chief prosecutor ever, but is it really a surprise when you got into the judicial training institute so young, got top marks on your bar exams, such an amazing prosecutor--”

 

“Hyungwon, what--”

 

“I,” Hyungwon is almost shouting now, leaning even further across the table. “I can do that for you, Kihyun. You want to expose the sex trafficking ring? Hell, you want to bring down half of Chil Sung Pa? I can do that. Join me.”

 

He grins at Kihyun, manically, searching his eyes for the telltale glint.

 

Kihyun balks. “You’re being ridiculous. Your--your fantasies about me are unfounded, and if I--okay, say I did want to go after them and do a clean job of it? I’m not going to join forces with a fucking gang. I’ll do it by law--the right way. I’m a prosecutor, Chae Hyungwon. Please sit down so we can proceed with the investigation as quickly as possible. I don’t have all day.”

 

“By law?” Hyungwon throws his head back and guffaws. “Oh, is that what you were doing in the Samshil hospital serial murderer case? I didn’t know that fabricating evidence was by the... law.”

 

Kihyun freezes. “Excuse me?”

 

Hyungwon sits down again, the picture of calm once more. “You got that prosecutor’s award for it, Kihyun. I’m sure it didn’t slip your mind.”

 

“I didn’t fabricate,” Kihyun glares at him and points his finger in a (useless) attempt at threatening Hyungwon, “any evidence. Your accusations are unfounded.”

 

“Hmm,” Hyungwon says softly. “The vials, the vials, Kihyun. You’re not going to sit here and try to tell me you forgot you switched them out? Does the nurse appreciate being framed?”

 

Kihyun’s glare intensifies. “She wasn’t framed. Everything pointed toward her. So what, I might have made the process a bit easier but--” Catching himself, he groans. “You absolute fucking bastard. How did you even fucking catch on to such a--such an allegation?”

 

“I have my ways,” Hyungwon shrugs. “So. Kihyun. You want me to make sure the prosecutor’s office knows about this? Or will you join me?”

 

“So first you offer, what, to do my work for the case of my dreams, now you’re threatening me and my entire fucking career if I don’t join forces with a criminal like you?”

 

Hyungwon checks the phone in his pocket, then stands up. His job is near finished, and he has three missed calls from Wonho, which could either mean that Busan operation went wrong or Changkyun has fucked something up (again). “But Kihyun, we’re not so different, you and I, are we?” He moves toward the door. Kihyun doesn’t even try to stop him--Hyungwon can see the gears in his mind going into overdrive, the sweat beading on his forehead. “Nine-thirty pm on friday. Someone will text you the address. Delete it as soon as you’ve memorized it. Don’t worry, no one will see you, it’s covert and there’ll be security.”

 

“You’re _unbelievable_.”

 

“See you, Kihyun.”

 

“The investigation isn’t even over yet--”

 

“Oh but you see, I’m already late to another appointment.” He flashes an apologetic smile. “Hey--isn’t t a miracle a mafia lord’s son showed up to the prosecutor’s office anyway? Just write it up, you knew before I walked in here I’m not involved in this.”

 

“You’re a little bi--bastard.”

 

“Bye, Kihyun.” He opens the door.

 

“What’s your stake in this fucking case?” Kihyun calls out after him.

 

Hyungwon is already halfway out the door, but he turns around to see Kihyun staring at him intently. “Me?” He makes a vague noise. “Oh, you know. I just want to see Chil Sung Pa fucking destroyed.”

 

 

\---------------------

 

 

_21:38 Friday 23 March 2018, XX, XX, Seoul_

 

It’s some fucking ghetto. Hyungwon had acted all mighty, covert this, security that, but no--it’s a ghetto, with run-down shops and makeshift warehouses and graffiti on the walls. He’s seen more stray cats in two minutes than he has in the past two months, and the sidewalk smells like piss. And here he is, in his designer suit (two million won), Rolex on his wrist, and the BMW he’s still paying off parked next to the piss-scented concrete. What a juxtaposition, he thinks bitterly, and groans. At least the cats are cute.

 

So here Kihyun is, at almost ten on a Friday night, lured to a ghetto by an old acquaintance he’d rather not be reacquainted with at all. Or, specifically, lured by the blackmail material he has on him. Kihyun would not be here if his entire career wasn’t at stake. Kihyun would be in his office, still typing up reports, or Kihyun would be at that nice Japanese restaurant, drinking sake and taking pictures to add to his carefully-curated Instagram feed.

 

“I don’t want to be here,” he announces as he takes a very plastic, very dirty seat across from Hyungwon at the pojangmacha he’d been directed to.

 

Hyungwon was wearing a sleek all-black suit at the prosecutor’s office, but tonight he’s decidedly more casual--black bomber jacket, ripped jeans, his brown hair tousled.

 

“I have so many better things to be doing than drink with you in this shabby fucking tent. Make it quick.” Once he’s seated, Kihyun also notices (tragically) the smudged eyeliner Hyungwon is sporting, the cross earring in his right lobe and--is that a tattoo? That is (unfortunately) a tattoo peeking above the tee Hyungwon is wearing. Well. That certainly wasn’t on his chest five years ago.

 

“Nice to see you too, Kihyun,” Hyungwon says, glancing at him almost lazily. (Kihyun hates the way he does that, hates the way his expression oozes relaxed, effortless condescension). “I see you have a stick up your ass even after work hours. Should’ve changed into something more comfortable, babe. It’s a Friday night.”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Kihyun hisses. Hyungwon ignores him, of course, motioning to the frazzled woman behind the counter to bring another glass. “And as far as I’m concerned I’m not here to have fun. This is still--business. In a sense.”

 

A shot glass is placed in front of Kihyun, and Hyungwon leans over to fill it up. “That’s too bad,” he’s saying, but Kihyun interrupts him. “You said it would be, what was it, covert? And what kind of security does this place have to offer? I mean look at all these people,” Kihyun motions to the commotion at the crammed tables around them. “Thought you were the kind of fabulously rich boy who wouldn’t set a gold-encrusted foot on an establishment where the cheapest thing isn’t 500 thousand won.”

 

“That’s in my private life,” Hyungwon takes a shot. “On the job? I know how to get down and dirty. This place is covert, Kihyun. The best place to talk about secrets is in a crowd no one important enough expects you to be in.”

 

Kihyun grunts, his fingers tracing the rim of the shot glass. He vaguely wonders if it’s even been washed, but it’s probably better not to travel down that line of thought. “And what about security?”

 

Hyungwon gestures surreptitiously to his right. “Table by the door. See the guy in the black shirt and gray sweats?” Kihyun sees him. When the man notices him staring, he ducks his head awkwardly and scratches at his hair, then looks back up at Kihyun to nod vaguely and jerk his head to the side. He seems to be very fascinated by the dirty green canvas of the tent. Kihyun almost laughs. “He’s security? You’ve got to be joking, Hyungwon, he looks like a fucking overgrown dork on steroids.”

 

“Are you kidding me? He’s the best guy in our arsenal,” Hyungwon looks offended. “He has over three hundred confirmed kills. He’s a top sniper and can kill you with his bare hands in over seven hundred ways.”

 

Kihyun just stares. “I don’t know whether to believe you or not. And why that sounds so familiar.”

 

Hyungwon shrugs and motions toward Kihyun’s untouched glass. “Just drink.”

 

 

 

 

“It’s not that complicated, actually. I want to go after Congressman Joo.”

 

“Congressman Joo,” Kihyun muses. “LKP? The one who just announced he’s running for president?”

 

“Mmm. He’s the most high-profile one with connections to Chil Sung Pa. He’s also a danger to us--in that he’ll definitely target our operations.”

 

Kihyun sighs and fills his glass again. “So. You want to go after this guy, ruin him. Expose the sex trafficking ring. And then when Chil Sung Pa is destructed, what? You and your gang are the head mafia of Korea?”

 

Hyungwon snorts. “You really don’t know anything, do you? Chil Sung Pa won’t be destroyed by this. Oh, weakened, sure. Destroying them is a long term plan. Think decades. Don’t have to worry your pretty little stressed head about it.”

 

Kihyun scowls. “I am a _prose_ \--”

 

“Anyways,” Hyungwon interrupts. “You’ll work with my team and lead the prosecution of both Congressman Joo and the sex trafficking ring. Deliver justice, serve the righteous, etcetera--most importantly, this’ll be huge for your career, you ambitious little bastard, you know you’re dying to do it.”

 

“Justice? And who’s the righteous, you and Son Yong Pa? You’re a fucking mafia. You traffic drugs, you run thousands of loan shark businesses, you control half the illegal money market in South Korea, what righteous?” Kihyun shakes an empty bottle in Hyungwon’s direction.

 

“Well, we don’t do sex trafficking,” Hyungwon defends. “We just… like money.”

 

“Oh, and that puts you on some kind of moral high ground? You know, Hyungwon,” Kihyun doesn’t want to bring up the past, but he can’t help himself. “You were always spouting that revolutionary crap back in college. Down with America. The South Korean government must be destructed. Fuck imperialist powers, mobilize the proletariat--”

 

“And am I doing anything to counter that?”

 

Kihyun gapes. “You’re helping run a mafia. You’re a rich boy, you, you control _loan_ sharks,”

 

“The mafia,” Hyungwon says. “Well. You have to gain power to destruct power, don’t you? There’s no use for idealism. If you want to destroy structures, you have to play the dirty games of the structures. Capitalism. Immorality. We never go too far with it, we only do what’s necessary--”

 

“I can’t believe you,” Kihyun snorts. “Your posh lifestyle is a necessity too? You’re really going to sit here and tell me, with a straight face, the members of your criminal empire are anti-capitalist anti-imperialists--”

 

“They may not be, but I am,” Hyungwon counters. “And we were talking about me and my ideals. It’s the long term, Kihyun, long term. I’m intelligent enough to think clearly and realistically about my theoretical revolution--”

 

“Yeah, sure. You become the mafia boss, Hyungwon. The best, most powerful mafia boss in all of east Asia, and then destroy all the imperialists. Uplift the proletariat you exploit. You’ll fucking do that, I’m sure.” Kihyun glares first at Hyungwon who is watching him amusedly, then at the IUs smiling sweetly on the soju bottles lined on the table. He might be a little drunk. “You were like this too in college. Nothing changed, you’re still a fake intellectual supposed revolutionary who is actually just an idealist hypocrite--”

 

“I just said I’m not idealist--”

 

“--an idealist. _Hypocrite_. Who uses his ideology to have a comfortable conscience, that’s you, you bastard!” He shoves his glass in Hyungwon’s face to emphasize his point, making him flinch, then brings it back to his lips.

 

“You, a literal member of the establishment, criticizing me?”

 

“Hypocrite,” Kihyun spits.

 

Hyungwon looks like he’s about to retort, but then he just bursts into laughter. “Oh god. This reminds me of uni.” Then he stills, realizing what he’s said, and watches Kihyun’s face nervously.

 

It’s hot inside the pojangmacha. Kihyun is sweating, and he’s tired, and he should probably leave sometime soon.

 

Hyungwon clears his throat. “So. The plan, Kihyun. Are you in?”

 

“Am I in to work with a deranged mafia member to fulfill his ambitions while putting my career at risk for some rewards? No, Hyungwon, I can’t say I am.” He gets up. “Thanks for the drinks.”

 

“Kihyun--”

 

“I’m tired. I have work. Good night.”

 

“Kihyun, you do realize I still have the information on your--”

 

 

\---------------

 

 

_02:03 Thursday, 29 March 2018, Mapo-gu, Seoul_

 

“Kihyun, you do realize I still have the information on your tampering, right?”

 

Kihyun jumps, startled. He looks to his right, and there Hyungwon is, leaning against the window of the restaurant. He has on an off-white suit-- _is he not wearing a shirt under that jacket?_ \--and shades in the middle of the fucking night. The effect should be comically cartoonish, but it isn’t, because it’s Hyungwon, whose long, alien proportions make everything work effortlessly. “I’m investigating a crime scene,” he says exasperatedly. “And you show up, again, third time in a week, while I’m working--how did you even find me?”

 

Hyungwon shrugs and lifts the cigarette Kihyun didn’t notice he had to his lips. “I have my ways.”

 

“You’re putting us both in danger, what if they see? There’s cops around, my subordinates from the prosecutor’s office--”

 

“Not as much danger as you’ll be in when the chief prosecutor checks his mail. What happened here?” Hyungwon exhales and gestures toward the restaurant.

 

Kihyun narrows his eyes and coughs a little. “Don’t do that in my face. A murder, the restaurant owner was gutted so gruesomely it’s pretty hard to believe. Perp ran off--obviously. And you know, you say that every time, but will the chief prosecutor even believe your--baseless--accusations? I do have enemies everywhere, occupational hazard.”

 

Hyungwon snorts. “Sure.”

 

And then he’s pulling out a folded manila envelope from his suit jacket, and Kihyun gulps. “You don’t believe me? Here,” he tosses the envelope to Kihyun.

 

“Not here,” Kihyun hisses. “You bastard. You idiot.”

 

“So you’ll meet me again, then?” Hyungwon tilts his head.

 

Kihyun sighs, massages his temples with his palms. “I’ll probably be done by four, four thirty.”

 

 

 

 

“Ah, another covert location, I see.”

 

Hyungwon is sitting at one of the two tables outside the neighborhood convenience store (the other is occupied by a wasted old man), lips around the straw of his iced tea and his shades lowered down the bridge of his nose as he watches Kihyun approaching. “You look ridiculous.”

 

“And you look like utter shit,” Hyungwon responds. “Sit. Or keep standing there, swaying on your feet because you haven’t slept in thirty-six hours. Your choice.”

 

Kihyun sits. “So is this another one of those perfect locations to talk about secrets?”

 

“No, this is a pretty shit place to talk about secrets. But you didn’t leave me much choice what with your… workplace of the night.”

 

Kihyun rolls his eyes. “It’s a crime scene, Hyungwon. I can’t exactly choose. What about security?”

 

Hyungwon nods toward the alley entrance a few yards away from the convenience store. Kihyun squints, and then he spots it--a big figure, shifting his weight from one foot to another. He pokes his head out a little, gives a single half-hearted wave, then shuffles back into the darkness.

 

Kihyun shakes his head. “I still can’t believe you.”

 

“See this new tattoo?” Hyungwon points at his cheek. There’s a small, stylized X right below the corner of his eye that Kihyun hasn’t noticed. “We get one every time to commemorate a kill. This one was kind of a small fry, and so an appropriately small tattoo.”

 

Kihyun shakes his head.

 

“You can see him in action, if you like,” Hyungwon says. “If you join us.”

 

“...Right.” And then Kihyun remembers what brought him here. “Give me the file.”

 

It is tossed to him instead, and his head might be spinning, but he still has enough reading comprehension left in his brain to understand that it is…. Not good. Not good as in incriminating. Incriminating as in Kihyun could very well be fucked.

 

“Well?”

 

“Fuck.”

 

“Yes, I agree. And if I don’t have your affirmative word within the next twenty or so minutes, all it takes it one text,” Hyungwon holds his phone by the corner and spins it, “One text to have it delivered to the chief prosecutor tonight. We have big plans and not a lot of time, you know. Your choice, babe.”

 

“Fuck. Don’t call me that. Fuck.”

 

“Well?”

 

Kihyun sighs deeply, slumps in his chair, sits up to glare at Hyungwon, then slumps down again with his eyes closed.

 

“I would lead the prosecution into the congressman and the ring, you said?” He mumbles finally.

 

 

\---------------

 

 

_20:18, Saturday, 31 March 2018, XX, XX, Seoul._

 

Hyungwon types in what seems to be at least a ten digit code into the door’s keypad, then presses his thumb into the scanner. This is the third door he has unlocked in a series of doors in this dilapidated building. Kihyun wonders if there’s more, but then Hyungwon is swinging the door open and shouting out, “Hey guys, meet Yoo Kihyun. Kihyun, meet The Guys.”

 

They step into what looks like a definitely not dilapidated meeting room. Kihun’s best guess is a repurposed office space--there’s a table in the middle, a whiteboard along one wall, a daunting amount of monitors along another, and a corridor branching off to the right.

 

And more, he realizes as he takes in the room. Crowded bulletin boards, a couch with a body sprawled on it, and a makeshift kitchen in the corner that looks like it’s been transplanted from hell or a depraved college student’s dormitory.

 

“We’re ‘the guys’ now, huh, Hyungwon?” A voice deadpans. “Nice to know I’m a nameless entity to you, a mere slave.” The leather chair in front of the monitors swivels around--Kihyun hadn’t noticed it among the utter mess of wires and screens, but there’s a desk and a chair with a person in it--to reveal what does indeed seem to be the picture of a depraved college student. Hoodie with crumbs decorating it, eyebags dark enough to be confused with that of a corpse, and one hand curled around a large-sized Coke. Kihyun remembers those days. Kihyun does not want to remember those days.

 

“Shut up, Changkyun,” Hyungwon responds. “Is Wonho still sleeping? It’s been hours.”

 

Changkyun ignores him. “The name’s Changkyun, as you’ve already heard. Im Changkyun, I.M., ranked ninth globally in Overwatch, pleased to meet you.”

 

Kihyun glances back at Hyungwon, who is now fiddling with a pot on the stovetop. “This kid is in your gang? In on your plot, too?”

 

“I take offense. Yes, Wonho’s been sleeping for hours, you made him take over your rounds last night so you could go after Bora, in case you forgot. No, I’m not a kid, I am a fully-grown twenty-three year old adult and did you know Hyungwon couldn’t possibly pull off half the shit he does without me, in fact he would be in jail by now on a dozen accounts had I not--”

 

“Bora’ll be by in the next few hours,” Hyungwon interrupts as he tears open a ramen pack.

 

Changkyun immediately pauses his tirade and swivels in Hyungwon’s direction in amazement. “Really? Even after you betrayed her during the Incheon op? How do you do it, man, you’re a real fucking devil.”

 

Hyungwon smirks slightly. “Oh, you know. My overflowing charm no one can possibly resist--”

 

“He means money,” Changkyun says conspiratorially to Kihyun. “He’s hot, but Bora’s hotter and the only reason she wouldn’t bitchslap him to Mars faster than Elon Musk can say space colonization is the money. I mean, same, though. Make me some too,” he tells Hyungwon, then begins scooting his chair forward to move closer to the kitchen. “‘M hungry.”

 

“She did some things. I had to drop by the pharmacy before picking Kihyun up--do you _ever_ get up from that chair? Oh fuck, was I supposed to add the sauce before the noodles?”

 

“It’s after, you dumb piece of shit. And no, not as long as you and Wonho are here in need of my services and ready to cater to my delectable ass. You know, you look a lot better than I thought you would,” he addresses Kihyun, who is still standing awkwardly next to the table, hands in his pockets. “When Hyungwon said ace prosecutor, I was thinking a bit more, uh, bald head, beer belly, unfortunate scent of sweat wafting from your body. That’s the kind I had at least, when I was being investigated for that social security system hack in 2014--it wasn’t even me, I would never be that sloppy. Prosecutor Jung. Do you know him?”

 

“I--what? You honestly expect me to know some random district prosecutor you met while stirring up trouble, kid? I,” Kihyun puffs up his chest a little, because he is an unabashed gloating asshole, “work at the--”

 

“Supreme Prosecutor’s Office. I know, we were briefed. I was there too! Great marble decor in the lobby, really nailed the faux European decadence look. So you really don’t know Prosecutor Jung? Thick glasses, receding hairline, his breath always smells like garlic.”

 

Kihyun clutches the edge of the table. “Prosecutor Jung? Our Prosecutor Jung? He… eats pickled garlic every day for lunch--”

 

Changkyun snaps his finger. “There we go! His horrible dietary habits. See, you look nothing like him.”

 

“I have no idea if I did this right,” Hyungwon murmurs as he stares into the pot. “Are the noodles supposed to stay in the square shape?”

 

“Anyways, you might have the stance of an angry middle-aged man shaking his fist at the sky, but it’s like, a solid eight,” Changkyun presses. “What I mean is, if I was Hyungwon, I would totally suck your dick.”

 

Hyungwon and Kihyun balk in indignation almost at the same time. “ _Changkyun_ \--”

 

The figure on the couch stirs, lifting its head and blinking confusedly. “Did someone say dick?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

… It’s a lot. Kihyun is working on about three cases simultaneously, he slept at the office Friday night and continued working into Saturday afternoon--with only rice rolls and coffee as sustenance--until Hyungwon demanded his time. And now he’s here, in some kind of mafia secret lair with the intent of plotting the demise of a politician, being talked to about dick by some overgrown teenager.

 

He’s sitting at the table now, across from who he now knows is Wonho. He smiles sweetly at Kihyun and continues patting down his sleep-mussed hair. It’s a lot.

 

Hyungwon sets the pot down at the table and nods toward Changkyun’s figure receding down the corridor. Something about calling a certain Jooheon, but Kihyun had tuned most things about after the dick comment. The, the _audacity_. He can’t believe. “Well? What do you think about Changkyun?”

 

Kihyun hesitates, mouth open, and then decides on: “It’s a lot.”

 

Wonho laughs. “He’s weird, literally alien. He might not have any regard for social boundaries but he’s kinda a genius with computers and all that digital deep-web shit.”

 

“Ah,” Kihyun says delicately. “He’s your hacker guy.”

 

“Pretty much. Hyungwon, did you not stir this at all?” Wonho accuses as he opens the lid.

 

“Aha. I knew I was forgetting something.” Hyungwon sits next to Wonho, then promptly pulls his legs up to sprawl his overgrown limbs across the table. The soles of his Chelsea boots are a mere ten centimeters away from Kihyun.

 

Kihyun scowls. “You’re still really fucking uncouth, I see.”

 

Hyungwon shrugs. “Home turf, anything goes.”

 

“How can you fuck up ramen,” Wonho shakes his head as he takes a bite.

 

“When’s Bora showing up? You got her, right? She bringing Minhyuk?”

 

“Mm. Minhyuk? He’s already out doing fieldwork for us. You know he has a flair for adventure, he was the easiest to convince.”

 

“Ooh, Bora’s gonna be _so_ mad when she finds out you stole him first,” Wonho says with glee. “She likes to have complete control over her, uh, associates. Of which Minhyuk is one,” he informs Kihyun. “Minhyuk’s not one to be tied down, though.”

 

“I honestly have no idea who or what you’re talking about,” Kihyun responds. He’s confused and he’s developing a headache (probably aided by severe lack of sleep), and the plot is growing bigger than he imagined the more he finds out about it. “Who the hell else is involved in this,” he gestures vaguely toward the walls, “this, uh, endeavor?”

 

“You’ll find out,” Hyungwon says airily. “They’ll be coming in soon enough.”

 

Kihyun scowls. “If you really need me badly enough to blackmail me into joining your stupid, dangerous, reckless games, bastard, you’d better knock yourself a few notches down on the cockiness or I’ll deliver on the broken neck and spine promise soon enough--”

 

Hyungwon groans. “You’re really something, Yoo Kihyun.”

 

“So tell me. The people. The plan. I didn’t come to have my time wasted, unlike someone I’m officially employed.”

 

“There’s me, Changkyun, Hyungwon, you, and Jooheon, for starters,” Wonho interrupts, ramen long forgotten. (Kihyun had seen him gleefully enjoying their back-and-forth out of the corner of his eye.) “Jooheon’s a new recruit, like you. Kkangpae off some of the toughest streets--he has connections with conmen and resources of all sorts, and he’s a pro in this kinda business. Real sweet boy.”

 

“Right,” Kihyun says faintly. “What about… what about the overgrown dork of a bodyguard Hyungwon has? Is he in on it?”

 

Wonho wheezes with laughter. “Oooh, I like you. That’s the best description of Shownu I’ve ever heard.”

 

“Don’t like him, he’s a demon, you’ll end up regretting it,” Hyungwon warns.

 

“You know, most would say the same about you, Hyungwon.”

 

Hyungwon chooses to shrug that off, and turns to Kihyun. “You can assume Shownu’s in on everything I am. He’s part of the family.”

 

“Is it true,” Kihyun asks Wonho, “That he’s a--a trained sniper who can kill a man with his bare hands?” He pauses. “It’s kind of… difficult to believe.”

 

“In over seven hundred ways,” Wonho supplies for him. “You can ask him yourself, if you’d like.”

 

“Ah. I’ll… pass.”

 

“He’s very gentle,” Wonho reassures him. “If you’re not someone he’s trying to kill.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“Then there’s Bora and Minhyuk. They’re not really associated with Son Yong Pa, but we’ve worked with them before. Pro scammers, dabble in a bit of… this and that. Hyungwon got the intel on the trafficking ring from her before he pissed her off last fall. Bora’s lowkey but her reach is pretty far.”

 

Changkyun bounds back in then, waving his phone at Hyungwon. “He’ll be here in thirty. Is that the ramen? Any good?”

 

“Don’t even bother,” Wonho warns him. “It’s, like, barely edible, if you’ve been stuck on a deserted island for two weeks and this is the first and only taste of civilization you get.”

 

Changkyun shrugs and takes a seat, reaching for the pot. “Sounds good enough for me.”

 

 

 

 

 

Kihyun checks his watch. It’s nearing ten.

 

“Bora loves to be fashionably late,” Changkyun whispers in his ear. “And Minhyuk’s out in the field so he definitely won’t make it. It’ll only be a few more minutes.”

 

Shownu has been standing by the door since he arrived nearly half an hour ago, and Jooheon is seated on Changkyun’s right. Kihyun is mystified. He looks half like a textbook thug he would cross the street to avoid--tacky Hawaii print shirt paired with an Adidas tracksuit, dragon tattoo snaking down his arm, and to complete the look, literal dozens of piercings, in his ears, nose, eyebrows--Kihyun stops counting. But then Jooheon smiles, his eyes forming crescents and his cheeks the cherub inspiration of a Renaissance painter’s dreams. And then. to top it all off, he literally whines “ _Hyuuuung_ ” when he sees Hyungwon. “You should’ve told me earlier so I could’ve gotten the boys prepared.”

 

“Jooheon is an old friend of mine, I introduced him to Hyungwon and now he thinks Jooheon is his.” Changkyun whispers in Kihyun’s ear again. He seems to have taken it upon himself to give Kihyun running commentary. It is not much appreciated, and Kihyun tries to convey this, but Changkyun is oblivious to nonverbal signals.

 

“I see,” he says flatly, then tries to surreptitiously lean away.

 

“Let’s start,” Hyungwon calls out, carrying in a pile of folders in his hands. “Primers,” he explains, then tosses them on the table (carelessly, in Kihyun’s opinion), leaving everyone to scramble for a copy. He’s in full corporate boss mode, sleeves rolled up, hair pushed back, and horn-rimmed glasses in place. It’s infuriating, Kihyun thinks, the kind of fucking airs he puts on.

 

_(He doesn’t gulp.)_

 

“We all know the basic premise of why we’re here today,” Hyungwon begins. “Now it’s time to talk details.” He walks to the whiteboard, papers in hand, and pulls out a marker from his pocket.

 

“Oh? Beginning without me?”

 

Kihyun startles, turning around to the source of the noise. There’s a woman leaning against the doorframe, face twisted into a scowl of disgust. Directed straight at Hyungwon.

 

Well, Kihyun thinks, he can relate.

 

Wonho breaks out into a crooked grin. “Hey, Bora. Impressive, getting in without making any noise--I don’t think even Shownu noticed you.”

 

Bora just nods in acknowledgement to him before whipping her head back in the direction of the corporate-boss-demon. “You bitchass,” she says, stalking across the room and stopping only when her face is literal centimeters away from Hyungwon. “You scam me, me, Hyungwon, then you show your brazen face again begging for my help, and now you’re not even waiting to start the briefing?”

 

Hyungwon grins. “I didn’t scam you, Bora, you got the money and you know it.”

 

“If I hadn’t gotten the money, you wouldn’t be here today, Chae Hyungwon,” she pushes a finger into his chest. “You didn’t carry out the heist the way we agreed. You changed the plan on your own, putting all of us in danger without even alerting us just because you think you’re some fucking mastermind puppeteer--”

 

“But it worked out, didn’t it?” Hyungwon interrupts, and leans even closer. “You’ll get your money this time too, I promise. All five hundred million won.”

 

“And you got to Minhyuk before even _discussing_ with me? He's my person. _My_ kid.”

 

"How would Minhyuk feel if he heard you talking about him like he's your plaything--"

 

"He'd better be fucking grateful seeing as I saved his damn life off the streets--"

 

Kihyun watches the exchange intently. “They’re not like, dating, or fucking, or into each other, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Changkyun whispers, having found his way into Kihyun’s personal space again. “Hyungwon’s, like, really gay.”

 

“Trust me, I know.” It slips out before Kihyun even realizes what he’s said, and he chokes out a cough. Fuck.

 

Changkyun reacts with the highest eyebrow raise Kihyun has seen, but before he can voice anything, Bora (grudgingly) takes a seat and locks eyes with Kihyun. “The rest is your usual crew, but who’s this?”

 

“Ah. Didn’t have the opportunity to introduce you,” Hyungwon says apologetically. “This is Prosecutor Yoo Kihyun. He’s going to be a part of the operation--”

 

“Prosecutor?” Bora says skeptically. “Hyungwon, I don’t work with this kind. I take money from this kind, but I don’t do _work_ with them.”

 

Kihyun has sudden flashes of scenes before his eyes--the chief prosecutor and his inner circle heading to hotels after team dinners. Division head Cha and the nights Kihyun knows he spends at red light districts. “Are you… ah… “

 

Bora laughs. “What, a prostitute? I suppose you’re imagining some kind of femme fatale, get-rich-off-the-pockets-of-old-men lifestyle? No, there’s a lot more cash in the things I’m doing, sir. Want a whore, you can talk to Minhyuk. He loves that stuff.”

 

Wonho groans. “Bora, take it easy. He’s a newbie. Establishment prodigy fresh on the wayward track.”

 

“He’s necessary, trust me,” Hyungwon cuts in. “For what we’re doing.”

 

Bora sighs. “Fine. For now--I don’t care, I don’t even know if I’m joining. Just a tip, though,” she nods at Kihyun. “Never trust anything Chae Hyungwon says.”

 

“Trust me,” Kihyun repeats. “I know.”

 

 

\---------------

 

 

_22:40, Saturday, 31 March 2018, XX, XX, Seoul._

 

“We’re targeting Congressman Joo. LKP. The most prominent politician with ties to Chil Sung Pa, and he just announced he’s running for presidency. Chil Sung Pa’s rivalry with us has only gotten worse in the past decade,” Hyungwon taps at the figures he’s underlined on the whiteboard. “That’s Son Yong Pa’s vested interest in this.”

 

“And of course,” Hyungwon adds, looking at Kihyun, “The sex trafficking ring is a severe violation of a, ah, basic universal moral code as well as the law--”

 

“Keep it,” Kihyun snaps, making a show of rolling his eyes. “We don’t have all day.”

 

“So is Congressman Joo connected specifically to the sex trafficking ring? Is that what we’re going after?” Bora asks.

 

Hyungwon points the marker at her. “Yes, but no. He’s involved with the trafficking in the sense that the power he lends to Chil Sung Pa is being used for it--but hell if we can trace it back to him, or even expose that information without getting half of us killed. No, we’re going after something else.” He turns around with a flourish and starts scrawling in big letters across what’s left of the board, then steps back.

 

“Hwasang Insurance,” Bora reads.

 

“Hwasang Insurance. Congressman Joo used to be the chairman before he entered politics, now it’s his younger brother--you can probably guess, figurehead. Anyone want to hazard a guess at where Chairman Joo’s hundreds of millions are hidden? Where they came from in the first place?”

 

“Oh,” Jooheon speaks up. “Frauds?”

 

Hyungwon nods. “Large-scale insurance frauds, for one, and laundering.” He smiles. “Bit of an expert in that, myself.”

 

“So we’re going after Hwasang?”

 

“We’re going after everything. Tailing Chil Sung Pa, Hwasang, collecting intel and manipulating prosecution as well as we can,” he says, gesturing toward Kihyun.

 

Bora hums. “What’s endgame?”

 

“We leak all the intel, expose Congressman Joo, expose the trafficking ring. Changkyun can handle that for us--Prosecutor Yoo will lead the investigation once we get there. Chil Sung Pa may not be ruined, but they won’t be able to escape from the public outrage and pressure. It’s close to election season, so the opposing party will be quick to take advantage of it. And you all,” Hyungwon looks intently at everyone sitting at the table, “will walk out of here with your pockets lined with everything I promised.”

 

 

\---------------

 

 

_23:52, Sunday, 1 April 2018, XX, XX, Seoul._

 

“Are you guys in?” Jooheon asks, worrying his lip as he stares at the cards in front of him.

 

“Gotta be,” Changkyun responds. “Four diamonds. Hyungwon’s almost my full employer, and the pay’s good.”

 

“Don’t smoke, baby, you’ll ruin your skin and your fresh young lungs,” Minhyuk chastises Jooheon when he sees him reaching for a cigarette from the pack on the table. And then proceeds to bring the cigarette in his own hand to his lips.

 

Changkyun shakes his head. “You’re something, Minhyuk.”

 

Minhyuk turns from patting Jooheon’s head (he’s met with feeble protesting on Jooheon’s part, but Minhyuk has never cared) to Changkyun--then proceeds to exhale all the smoke in his face. “Thanks,” he grins. “You too, Changkyun.”

 

 

\---------------

 

 

_00:04, Tuesday, 3 April 2018, Supreme Prosecutor’s Office, Seocho-gu, Seoul._

 

Hyungwon looks at his watch, and then glares at Kihyun. “It took you six minutes and forty seconds to walk across the street. What did you do, take a bathroom break?”

 

“We really need to stop meeting at my workplace, Chae Hyungwon. Someone’s going to see.” He glances around and shuffles closer to the streetlight where Hyungwon stands. “I have work to be doing, you know.”

 

“Who’s gonna see besides what, the two other brown-nosing prosecutors left in the building?”

 

“Are you implying that I’m _brown_ -nosing?”

 

Hyungwon ignores him. “Want a smoke?”

 

Kihyun sighs. “Yeah.”

 

Hyungwon pauses and looks quizzically at him. “That was just a formality--I thought you quit.”

 

“Oh, I have quit,” Kihyun responds. “When I’m not so stressed I could tear out my entire head of hair without noticing.”

 

 

 

 

Hyungwon finds a bench for them in the park near the office. “Doesn’t this remind you of the old days? Just sitting and smoking amicably, reveling in our youth--”

 

“Amicably? We fought all the time. And if by reveling in youth, you mean drowning in the midst of ten essays, two projects, and three exams at all times of the year--sure.” Kihyun looks at Hyungwon, who, as always, seems to be unbothered by any venom Kihyun makes sure to lace his words with. He’s wearing a leather jacket, white graphic tee under, jeans, boots--Kihyun has begun to recognize it as his signature style, along with tacky suits with tacky fits that shouldn’t work so well off the runway (but maybe Hyungwon _is_ the runway). It’s a stark contrast to Kihyun, in his strictly-office-attire slacks, dress shirt, hair pushed back only so that it doesn’t bother him by getting in his eyes. How did we get here, he thinks as he remembers hoodies and ripped pants and even makeup at parties ( _\--and Hyungwon pushing him against the wall of someone’s bedroom, leaning in, laughing--_ ), how did we change so much? Or maybe, maybe this has been us all along.

 

“Don’t bring up the past, I told you,” he says instead aloud. “Is everyone in for the op?”

 

Hyungwon nods. “Almost. Still waiting on Bora. She’ll agree, though. I know it.”

 

“You’re still as smug as ever, huh?” Kihyun points his cigarette at Hyungwon. “You fake-intellectual narcissistic bastard--”

 

“I thought you just said not to bring up the past,” Hyungwon watches him amusedly. “Or should we talk about the one time you got off on me reading Gramsci while you were--”

 

“ _Shut up_ ,” Kihyun hisses. Or shouts, or something in between, reaching over the grab Hyungwon by the jacket collar. “Shut the fuck up, or I’ll literally kill you.” God. God. _God_.

 

“Okay, Kihyun,” Hyungwon shrugs, but he’s still smirking. Kihyun entertains the thought of punching his nose, just once, but then Hyungwon’s pocket buzzes and he extracts himself from Kihyun’s grasp. “It’s Bora.”

 

“And?”

 

“She’s in.”

 

They sit in comfortable silence for a few seconds, Hyungwon looking even more smug (if possible), and then Kihyun remembers something. “Hey. Hyungwon. If you weren’t involved in the sex trafficking ring, who reported you to the prosecutor's?”

 

“Oh, that?” Hyungwon says offhandedly. “I did.”

 

 

\---------------

 

 

_22:50, Saturday, 31 March 2018, XX, XX, Seoul._

 

“What’s the plan, Chae?” Bora asks.

 

“Jooheon, Shownu, and Minhyuk will tail Chil Sung Pa. Collect information and evidence--by any means necessary. As for the insurance company, on April sixteenth,” he pauses. “I’m infiltrating Hwasang.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday m!
> 
> comments are nice


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